


You Win Or...

by blueteak



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Negotiations, Power Imbalance, Power Play, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/pseuds/blueteak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tywin discovers how good Robb is at playing games other than the game of thrones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Win Or...

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: Robb bends the knee to Tywin before the Red Wedding can happen, realizing that he's made a grave error in breaking alliance with Walder Frey. Bonus points if you work Roose in there somehow.
> 
> SecretSub!Robb inspired by sternflammden.

“Let him go,” Robb ordered, glancing briefly at the prisoner held by the Lannister guard before hunching back over the maps. 

Silence filled the tent. Even the prisoner appeared shocked. All but Robb looked to Tywin, whose brief, cold glance at Robb’s bent head promised retribution.

Apparently it would be non-immediate retribution, for Tywin turned away from Robb and reinforced the command Robb had had no right to give. “Yes. Allow him to return to the Wall and show Mance Rayder that Stark and Lannister are united against him.”

The Lannister guard, eyes flicking between Tywin and Robb, nodded and left. 

The Lannister war council, unlike the former Stark council, knew when to keep its peace, though they wondered at what they had just seen. The young Stark provided valuable assistance against the threat in the north, yes, but they could not understand the freedoms Lord Tywin seemed to allow the young man who had bent the knee once he realized that, for all his success on the field, he had alienated some of his allies to the point of personal danger. 

Tywin turned back to Robb, who, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room, continued to examine the routes traced along the map.

Without taking his eyes off of Robb, Tywin ordered the council to depart. He needed a private word with Stark. 

Though they were curious about what kind of contract of surrender Tywin and Stark had made, what sort of punishment Tywin might deliver, they took their leave, having no desire to face any of Tywin Lannister’s punishments themselves. 

“Who do you believe you are?” Tywin asked Robb, when they were alone. “And if the word ‘king’ passes your lips you will be on your knees until I deem it prudent to let you rise, so choose your words carefully.”

Robb bowed his head, glanced down at the maps, strategy marked by hands that should have been his own, and then looked up, holding Tywin’s gaze but showing neither the expected anger nor defiance. “I am Lord Stark of Winterfell, and Warden of the North,” he said. 

Tywin nodded curtly, satisfied that his threat had been effective, then turned, preparing to reassemble his council. 

Robb, however, was not finished. “I am no longer king, though I come from a line of kings. And I may become king again.”

Tywin turned back and strode over to Robb, fixing him with a gaze that drew out all of his secrets while revealing none of his own.

There was more than the usual Stark pride in this one's eyes. While Eddard Stark might very well have said the same, it would likely have been a slip while stating facts. In Robb, the truth was tinged with challenge. 

“All very true, my Lord Stark,” Tywin allowed. “Now. On your knees.”

Robb tilted his chin defiantly, but his words were calm. “And if I refuse, my lord?”

Robb’s cheeks were flushed, eyes bright, throat exposed—possibly intentionally—by the tilt of his chin. While this Stark was a good leader of men and preferred giving commands in battle, he seemed to want to yield elsewhere. Though he was technically now under Tywin’s command and could be forced to a certain point, Tywin wanted to see how well Robb Stark played games other than the game of thrones. 

“First a question, Lord Stark. Do you want to be beaten?”

Robb’s pulse jumped in his exposed throat, but he managed to say “no” steadily. 

Tywin nodded, then reached out suddenly and tilted Robb’s cocked chin up further, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, feeling Robb’s skin heat under him, his increased heart rate making the blood thrum under his fingertips. “It might be just what you need to remind you that the final decisions are no longer yours, that you are no longer responsible for the lives out there. You won’t think of giving orders again if you’re reminded of having been in that position for a thrashing the next time you bend over to examine those maps.”

Robb’s pupils dilated and his eyes glittered, but he kept his mouth stubbornly closed. 

“Or maybe you would enjoy it more that way,” Tywin mused. “Bending over the maps, the stretch reawakening the burn from my strap, just waiting for the opportunity to questions my commands in front of my men, knowing I will listen to you if your ideas are good. And then punish you in private. Like we are now.”

“I would not enjoy it,” Robb protested. 

“So you say,” Tywin replied, placing his hands on Robb’s shoulders. “But you have just told me you would submit to it. Now kneel,” he said pushing down on Robb’s shoulders. 

Robb knelt, looking more stunned than mutinous. “This is not…” he began, looking and sounding, for a moment, so achingly young despite his beard that Tywin felt a momentary flicker of pity. This was not a normal power struggle. They would be playing with two sets of rules, one for the bedroom and one for the field, and it would be difficult at many points to tell them apart, to know when disobedience might lead to a beating and buggery or the deaths of Stark supporters.  
“No, lad, it is not,” Tywin agreed, stroking Robb’s still overheated cheek. “When you submit like this, I might beat you or have you kneel naked in the corner. I might bind you or take away your ability to speak.” 

Robb opened his mouth, but Tywin placed a finger on his plump lower lip. “And I will definitely take you. Your mouth and your arse.”

Robb started to rise, but Tywin put a restraining hand on him. “Tell me again, who do you think you are?”

“Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Former king and possibly future king,” Robb spat out defiantly. “My Lord of Lannister.”

“Exactly so, though mind that I will thrash you for that not so subtle slight to my title, Stark. Do you think I would play this game with someone who was not close to my equal?”

Robb looked somewhat mollified. Tywin thought to ask him whether that was because he had reaffirmed his respect for the boy or because he’d promised to bend him over and warm his arse. Then again, perhaps this wasn’t the best time to ask. 

“No,” Robb said, again nakedly honest in a way Tywin wanted to cover, did not want to witness. He wanted the boy’s naked body, yes, but felt unexpectedly uncomfortable with his naked soul.

“As you started to suggest, this is a different game, boy. The terms you signed before you bent the knee hold regardless of what happens here. What we are doing now involves a different sort of contract, one we will feel out rather than commit to parchment.”

“And if I don’t agree to these terms?”

“Then you will be punished within the bounds of the agreement you did sign. But I promise you won’t enjoy it as much as you would this.”

Robb nodded, then put out his hand to shake. Tywin pulled him and sealed their agreement. He was just about to order him into position over the desk when Robb smirked. “I knew I could get you to let me off my knees sooner rather than later,” he said cockily, all trace of Stark the Solemn Negotiator gone. 

Later, with his cock buried in Robb’s well-warmed bottom, Tywin reflected that perhaps the Stark boy knew how to play the game better than he had let on.


End file.
